


A Quick Trip

by MykEsprit



Series: Dramione Delectables [14]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 09:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15860562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: Draco's face has a date...with Hermione's fist. Dramione. Written for Summer Loving - Back to Hogwarts Fest.





	A Quick Trip

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to the admins of Strictly Dramione, who put this fest together. Thanks for all the hard work - I really appreciate your time and patience!
> 
> Beta love to fangirlsanity!

****

 

 

**Hogsmeade Station**

**September 1, 1997**

**7:35 p.m.**

 

More than anything, the Hogwarts Express was a symbol.

For fresh-faced First Years, the shiny red train signified the next chapter of their young lives—a journey out into the world for their first taste of freedom and adventure.

For returning students, the Express denoted that time between family obligations and school responsibilities—those elusive moments when there were no chores to do or relatives to suffer or homework to procrastinate—when they could _truly_ just be teenagers.

For Minerva McGonagall, the column of white steam from the engine represented a clean slate, purging all the trouble and mischief of the past term (which had exponentially escalated as Harry Potter moved up in years). She was particularly excited for its first run since Lord Voldemort’s defeat.

The previous year—Potter’s sixth year—was spent agonizing over her precious Gryffindors’ safety as they vanquished the Dark Lord and hunted his fair-weathered followers. Despite their victory, it was unanimously agreed upon that the school year was overall bleak and harrowing.

And so, looking forward to a new school year, Minerva trained her attention on the horizon. She strained for that  _chug-chug-chug_ , as steady and reliable as a heartbeat. She kept an eye out for the black-and-red engine that gleamed even in the waning sunlight and the billow of steam that curled up into a violet blue sky.

It was to her great surprise, then, when the engine heaved and sputtered, wheezed and sighed, as it reached its final destination. Its wheels sluggishly rolled to a stop at Hogsmeade station, pulling behind it a single carriage—or, what was left of one.

It dragged on the rails with a torturous squeal and a shower of golden sparks. Inside, the Head Girl clutched the charred remains of a compartment door. The Slytherin Quidditch captain teetered as he pulled himself up from the angled floor.

They both stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at the gaping hole where there used to be a wall…and six other passenger carriages that held the rest of the student body.

Minerva blinked. Her breaths came in short gasps as she took in the damage. Her arms flew out in front of her, fingers splayed and palms turned to the sky as if in supplication to some obscure locomotive deity, begging for—what? Answers to her wordless questions? A miracle, perhaps?

She wasn’t sure. As she gaped at the scene before her, she had only enough presence of mind to string together three little words.

“What,” she gasped, “ _the FU—_ ”

* * *

 

**The Hogwarts Express**

**September 1, 1997**

**2:34 p.m.**

 

Ritchie Coote heard it from Ernie McMillan, who found out from Genevieve Smithers. She, in turn, had been walking by a compartment where a handful of second-year Ravenclaws had been giggling. According to the twittering girls, they witnessed an exchange between the newly-minted Head Girl and the Slytherin Quidditch captain—an argument in which One propositioned the Other, and the Other promptly offered to punch One in the face for his troubles.

“No.” Dean shook his head.

Ritchie quirked an eyebrow. “I believe it. Hermione Granger is—” He paused and looked up and down the length of the narrow corridor before whispering, “—Well, she’s bloody frightening, isn’t she? If anyone had the bollocks to threaten Draco Malfoy _in his face_ , it’s her!”

Dean released a drawn-out sigh and laid a comforting hand on Ritchie’s shoulder. “Mate, there are _no arguments_ from me about how scary Hermione is.” He shared a look with Seamus, who leaned against the doorframe of their abandoned compartment. “But she’s Head Girl. She wouldn’t threaten to punch another student—”

“Not in front of witnesses,” Seamus interjected with a snort.

“—even if it _is_ Draco Malfoy.” Dean finished, throwing an exasperated look in Seamus’ direction.

Seamus shrugged, a wicked grin forming on his lips. “What? We all heard about The Slap back in third year.”

“See?!” Ritchie’s eyes widened with alarm. “She’s already done it once! And now that she’s Head Girl, there’s no one to stop her!”

“All right!" Dean groaned. "I’ll tell you what—Seamus and I will talk to Hermione, and she can go around and tell everyone _herself_ that this is all just a rumor.” He gently nudged Ritchie past Seamus into the empty compartment. “You stay here. _Don’t_ talk to anyone. And for fuck’s sake, _calm down_.” He slid the door closed and turned to his best friend. “Hey, remember, like, five minutes ago when you said, ‘ _Ugh_ , this train ride is going to be _so_ boring with Moldymort dead and no one trying to kill Harry this year?’”

Seamus chuckled as the two of them clambered down the corridor. “Yeah, I guess I forgot to take the other two into account.”

“Just as much trouble, those two,” Dean said as they approached compartment D. “Never a dull minute—”

Ron's muffled voice carried through the wall. “—like you’re punching _through_ his face,” he said. “Your arms should follow all the way through the movement—”

Without knocking, Dean slid the compartment door open.

Hermione stood in the middle of the cozy space—one foot planted slightly behind the other, brows knit together, and brown eyes focused in the space a few feet in front of her. She reeled her fists back and threw them forward—first one, then the other in rapid succession. Her profusion of curls was tied in a messy ponytail, but a few strands escaped to graze her cheeks. They blew off her face with each puff of breath as she pummeled the air.

Ginny kneeled on the bench behind her, a small towel thrown around her neck and a blue bottle of water ready at her side.

On the opposite bench, Ron and Harry sat and gave pointers to their female comrade. Ron mimed a punch as he shouted instructions. “—like this!” He arced an arm in the air.

Hermione brought her fists to her chest. She rolled her eyes at her best friend. “If I do it like that, I’m going to hurt my wrist.” She glanced at the open door, where Dean and Seamus gaped at the tableau; her face brightened. “Oh! Hello!” She resumed sparring her invisible opponent, all the while giving them a perky smile. “How was your summer?”

“How was our—” Dean sputtered. “Hermione! What the hell is going on?!” 

* * *

 

**3: 46 p.m.**

 

“’Nothing is going on,’” Theo mocked, drawing quotation marks in the air. “Yeah-bloody- _right_. And I’m not the prettiest Slytherin in our year. Who else wants to take a turn in this Game of Lies?” He glanced at the sour faces inside the compartment.

“There is _nothing_ going on, and you’re _not_ the prettiest,” Draco spat. “Everyone knows I have the nicest hair and sharpest cheekbones out of all of you.” To prove the point, he brushed his fingers through his thick blond locks, which—Theo begrudgingly admitted—fell effortlessly just above his pale eyebrows. They framed his grey eyes in a flattering way.

“Yeah, but I’m the tallest,” Blaise exclaimed. “And have you looked at _these_?” He curled an arm up and flexed his substantial biceps.

Pansy slammed her head against the back of the bench and groaned. “You’re all _equally_ pretty,” she said through gritted teeth. “ _Ugh_ , why didn’t I make friends with people who have higher self-esteem,” she lamented, rubbing her face in frustration, “like those preteen girls in the next compartment.” With a sigh, her dark eyes landed on Draco. “Now tell us why this whole bloody train is buzzing about Granger beating the 'pretty' off your face before we get to Hogsmeade.”

Draco sat like a stone.

“Come on,” Blaise admonished, “you know better than to mess with Granger.”

“If you wanted an easy fight, you would have been safer picking on Potter,” said Theo.

Pansy raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You mean the one who killed the most dangerous wizard in the last hundred years? _That_ Potter?”

“Yeah,” Theo said with a confident nod. “What’s the worst he could do to Draco? _Expelliarmus_ him in the face?”

* * *

 

**4:18 p.m.**

 

“Foundations are the most important part of education,” Harry argued. “You need to master the basics first before you can excel at the advanced stuff.”

“I completely agree, Harry,” said Hermione in a patronizing tone, “but I don’t see how learning to ‘slap good’—as you put it—is going to help me in this scenario.” She locked her left arm across her chest, stretching her warmed-up triceps. “And, in case you forgot, I already know how to do that _anyway_.”

“This is what confuses me,” Dean said from where he slouched against the wall. “We’ve _all_ wanted to punch Malfoy in the face at one point. You already had your chance—why do you want to do it again?”

Next to him, Seamus shouted, “Yeah! Share the wealth, woman! Let _us_ have a go!”

* * *

 

**4:21 p.m.**

 

“Please? Please-please-please—”

“Theo, for the love of _god_ —”

“I just want to know _why_ , Blaise, now are you going to help or—”

“Both of you, shut up!” Pansy stood to her full height and sauntered over to Draco, who sat alone on the opposite bench. When she reached her stoic friend, she leaned down until they were nearly nose-to-nose. With a deep breath, she called on all things Parkinson and Pureblood and Slytherin inside her and distilled it in her most menacing glare. “For the last time,” she growled, “ _what is going on_?”

Unperturbed by her wrath, Draco continued to stare impassively.

* * *

 

**11:31 a.m.**

 

It was unnerving.

She knew Draco Malfoy to be a self-possessed wizard—so unflappable that he seemed impervious and so confident that he was cocky.

When Hermione stumbled upon him in such a contrary state, she felt troubled.

He stared into an empty compartment, eyes as wide as saucers, mouth agape, and face as grey as Dumbledore’s beard.

She reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. “Malfoy?”

Draco jumped when he registered her presence, his back plastering against the wall.

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping closer to peer into his face. It held the same expression that displayed on Harry’s face—bewildered and scared and overwrought all at once—when his scar acted up.

She extended her hand to brush the hair off his forehead. It was an instinctive gesture, one she often used to comfort her best friend.

Draco’s sharp gasp pierced the air, and she realized what she had done. Her hand snapped back to her side.

“ _Erm_ —sorry,” she mumbled. She stumbled against the opposite wall, putting as much distance between them as possible. Everything inside her screamed to run away from this awkward situation; yet as her feet backpedaled towards the exit, she called out, “Are you—so, you’re all right?”

Draco replied with a strangled whimper. He remained pasted to the wall, his unblinking gaze never leaving her.

“Cool,” she muttered before escaping to the next carriage.

* * *

 

**12:22 p.m.**

 

Everywhere she turned, there was Draco Malfoy, scrutinizing her as though she was a particularly difficult Arithmancy problem.

As she walked down the length of the train taking a head count, Draco trailed her. He kept half a carriage-length between them, jumping into the nearest compartment when she turned around or inserting himself in the middle of groups to blend in. He never called out; never tried to get her attention.

It was a testament to her eccentric experiences over the years that she didn’t find it _terribly_ strange to be observed like a lioness in her natural habitat.

She noted his odd behavior as ‘peculiar, but harmless,’ and thus, she ignored him—until she got to a compartment full of young Ravenclaw girls who giggled madly.

“What?” she asked, and, together, they pointed to a spot just over her shoulder.

She heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. She turned around—and jumped back when her arm brushed Draco's broad chest. “Holy—" she said, taking another step back. She didn’t expect him to be so near! “What—what do you—what the _hell_ , Malfoy?!”

“Granger,” he said, his tone stiff and weathered.

Her arms folded across her chest. “Tired of following me around yet?”

A puzzled smile slowly formed on his lips. “No, actually.”

Her eyes rolled heavenward. “Whatever, weirdo,” she said, stepping around to pass him, “just don’t get in my way—"

She made it to the end of the corridor before Draco said, “Wait!” He grabbed her arm and pulled her into an empty compartment, sliding the door shut behind them.

Hermione huffed; her hands curled into fists at her sides. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

He held up both hands in surrender. “Just two minutes! Please!”

She opened her mouth to yell at him—until she noticed the sincerity in his mien. His eyes burrowed into hers—imploring— _begging_.

Hermione blinked. “What do you want, Malfoy?” she said.

Draco took a deep, fortifying breath. Then he swallowed as a pained expression flitted over his features. He inhaled another long, drawn-out breath—

She tapped her toes impatiently. “What’s going on, Mal—”

“ _I’d like to kiss you!_ ”

The words hung in the air. When they finally registered, they bounced around inside Hermione’s skull, echoing and resounding.

“Huh?” she asked.

“I…would like to…kiss you.” He enunciated each word as though _he_ was also mystified by his statement.

“Huh.” Hermione’s mind finally caught up to the jig. Confusion gave way to frustration.

“So—“ Draco straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. “How do you want to do this?”

She scoffed. “ _You_ —” She closed the gap between them and jabbed a finger into his chest. “—want to kiss _me_.”

“Yes?”

“Oh, sure,” she muttered, shoving past him. She threw the compartment door open and stomped out.

“Sure?” Draco poked his head out and yelled, “Sure, as in ‘Yes, you'll kiss me?’” He hurried after her.

As anger bubbled over, she pivoted on her heels. “ _Sure_ , Malfoy,” she sneered, infusing as much sarcasm she could muster into her tone, “—right after I punch you in the face!”

His lips pursed. His left hand went up and grazed his cheekbone before determination settled over his brow. “Deal.” He nodded somberly. “First carriage. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.” He paced down the corridor at a clip, leaving Hermione gaping at his back.

“Are you really going to punch that boy in the face?” asked an incredulous voice at her side.

She turned, noticing that she had been standing outside the compartment of the young— _impressionable—_ Ravenclaws. “I…guess so,” she answered dazedly.

“But—why?"

* * *

 

**6:54 p.m.**

 

“He must have lost his mind,” Seamus muttered. He was squeezed between Dean and Colin Creevey, who, of course, wanted to be on the sidelines to capture the event on film. They were able to secure prime spots in Carriage 1—a miraculous feat, as the majority of students had packed inside well before the half hour. “He’s related to the Blacks, isn’t he? Crazy runs in that family.”

“Like, half of all magical Britain has a familial connection to the Blacks,” Dean quipped. “Even _Harry_ is technically related to them.”

“See what I mean?” Seamus shook his head and shuddered. “Wizarding Britain is so inbred.”

“It is what it is,” said Dean. “I mean, what can we really do about it?”

Seamus shrugged. “I dunno. Enact a law that forces Purebloods to procreate strictly with Muggleborns?”

“Maybe implement a fairer immigration policy?” Colin offered as he cleaned his camera lens.

Before either could answer, a shatter reverberated throughout the carriage. Several feet away, Hermione was warming up—by Transfiguring pumpkin pasties into clay likenesses of Draco and subsequently smashing them with her fists.

Across the carriage, Draco stared, his face frozen in a mask of fear.

Seamus chuckled. “Oh man, he is so—”

* * *

 

**6:56 p.m.**

 

“— _buggered_ ,” Blaise hissed in Draco’s ear. “Mate, you’re properly fucked in the arse.”

Theo grabbed Draco’s shoulders, forcing the blond to look him in the eye. “Draco, _are you sure you want to do this_?” he asked, shaking his friend. “I don’t know _why_ you agreed to let this happen. Is it some sort of restitution? Do you feel bad about bullying her for the last several years that you’re letting her do this? I totally get it. I do—I feel guilty, too, but for the love of Merlin—” He cradled Draco’s cheeks. “—it’s not worth your _beautiful face_.”

“For fuck’s sake, Nott,” Draco mumbled, swatting his friend’s hands off him. “This is going to happen,” he proclaimed. “It _has_ to.”

“Not really,” Pansy said. She languished along the side of the walkway, examining her cuticles as though it was the most interesting event in the rowdy carriage.

“It _does_ ,” Draco insisted. His eyes lit up as he stared across the way. “I think it’s…fate.”

* * *

 

**11:21 a.m.**

 

Draco walked down the corridor looking for an empty compartment. The noise and bustle of Platform 9¾ had frayed his nerves—he hated large, overpopulated places—and he needed to find a quiet space to clear his mind before he found his friends.

He heard a thump and a feminine moan as he passed by a closed door—sounded like people were getting frisky _already_. He mentally gave the lucky sod a high five, when his ears picked up a muffled, “—always a pleasure, Mrs. Malfoy—"

His thoughts screeched to a halt, and his feet followed suit a second later.

As his mind sputtered into gear, it formulated two thoughts—

One: that voice most _definitely_ said ‘ _Mrs. Malfoy_.”

And, two: that voice _did not_ belong to his father Lucius.

Before he could hatch a plan, Draco’s wand was already clutched in his hand, and his foot was kicking at the door. “ _Get your filthy paws off my mother!_ ” he screamed as he gripped the handle and slammed the door open.

Inside, a half-dressed blond man held a scantily-clad, beautiful woman in his arms—one with bright, brown eyes, rosy cheeks, and voluminous curls that cascaded over her shoulders. Her mouth fell open when she saw him.

“G—Granger?” Draco gasped. It _was_ her—there was no doubt—except she was all sorts of _mature_ —

His gaze shifted to the blond man, whose arms were wrapped around Granger’s waist. A tall man, with platinum blond hair and mischievous grey eyes. “Yup!” he said, giving him a thumbs-up, chuckling all the while at some private joke. A pendant on a gold chain hung from the man’s hand.

Quickly, Draco banged the door closed. He pressed both palms against it, leaning his head on the cool, opaque glass. Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced deep breaths into his lungs as he counted.

_Forty-eight…forty-nine…fifty._

With his wand in one hand, he slid the door an inch before opening it all the way.

The compartment was empty.

Had it always been empty?

Maybe he had imagined the whole thing—or maybe he was going crazy? His mother was a Black after all, and crazy runs in that family—the whole wizarding world knows that—

He was so entrenched in his thoughts that his mind didn’t fully register the sound of footsteps coming closer. He felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Malfoy?—"

* * *

 

**7:00 p.m.**

 

“Are you ready?” she asked as she closed the distance between them.

Draco only squared his shoulders and widened his strides to meet her sooner. He stopped only when he was within her arms' reach.

Hermione bit her bottom lip as she glanced at the eager students crammed in the carriage. She leaned towards Draco. “Are you _sure_ you want to do this?” she whispered. “I mean— _everyone’s_ here. You’re really okay with them watching me clock you?”

He nudged his chin higher. “If that’s what it takes,” he said solemnly.

What was this game he was playing? She gazed at the sea of faces—some worried, others envious, but most just _very_ excited for the showdown.

Her gaze shifted to Draco’s face—the face that tormented her for years—mocked her for her grades and her breeding and her teeth and all the other things not in her control. She cocked her fist back—

As she leaned, sunlight streamed through the open window. The shiny, new Head Girl badge on her lapel caught the glare—a harsh reminder of her role and responsibilities.

With a sigh, her hands fell limply at her side; her shoulders sagged. “Everyone, get out,” she ordered flatly.

A cacophony of whines and complaints erupted from the crowd.

“I mean it!” she yelled over the noise. She pointed to the exit. “If you’re not all back in your compartments in two minutes, I’m taking off House points!”

Grumbles emanated from the crowd as they followed her command.

“—not fair—”

“—doesn’t want any witnesses for the trial—"

“—want to see someone punch him in the face, just _once_ —”

“Oh, stop it, Seamus,” Hermione said as she caught that last snippet. Students filed out in groups, but she held out her hand to stop one of them. “Except you. You _stay_.”

“All right,” Draco mumbled. He stared at her hand on his arm as the carriage emptied.

When they were alone, she locked the door and faced Draco. She shook her head, at a loss for words at this strange turn of events. “Malfoy—” she said, throwing her arms up in the air. “—what the hell?”

Draco’s grave expression broke. His forehead fell into his open palms, and a wry chuckle erupted from his lips.

Soon, Hermione joined him, and their laughter turned into guffaws. Minutes later, tears of mirth ran down their cheeks.

“You were—you were going to _punch_ me in the _fac_ e!” he hooted.

“And you were going to _let_ me!” she chortled.

“I really was!”

They clutched at their bellies, doubled over on opposite walls. They gasped for breath.

When the laughter subsided, Hermione was finally able to ask the question that had been bothering her for hours. “Why?”

Draco straightened up.

“Why _were_ you going to let me?” she pressed him. "Why did you want to kiss me?"

“I wanted to see what it felt like, I guess,” he said quietly. “I thought, maybe— _maybe_ I’ll like it. And I thought maybe you would, too—”

A snort escaped her. “What on earth made you think that I _would_?” she asked, before snapping her mouth shut at the harsh words.

The words flew over his head as a smug grin settled on his lips. “Well, you could have said no altogether.” He pushed off the wall and sauntered towards her. “You could have told me to fuck off or to shove the deal up my arse, but you didn’t.”

Her hand flew to her lips at the realization. Her back pressed against the wall as he closed the gap between them.

“So, I’m thinking, since you didn’t turn me down flat on my arse, and you went through with this shenanigan,” Draco murmured, “maybe there’s a part of you that’s curious about kissing me, too?”

He leaned his head down. Their mouths were mere inches apart; the mix of his faint sandalwood cologne and minty toothpaste made her heart race. Like a lens finding its focus, she was all too aware of his broad shoulders and the hard lines of his collarbones, still apparent under his school uniform. Her fingers itched to trace them.

Her gaze landed on his lips.

She leaned away from the wall, her upper body curving and pressing into him. Her arms locked around his neck.

Hermione didn’t know who closed the last distance, whose lips captured whose—in the subsequent moments, it didn’t matter.

* * *

 

**7:31 p.m.**

 

“They’re dead,” Ron croaked as he stared at the door that connected to Carriage 1. “Hermione killed him. And then, out of guilt, she jumped out the window.”

Harry shook his head. “Of course not,” he said. “Hermione would have made it look like an accident. Probably why she told us all to leave.”

“Idiots,” Theo sneered. “It’s obvious that Draco snapped sometime between here and Platform 9 ¾, and he’s killed Hermione, and now he’s in there plotting to kill us all before we reach Hogsmeade!” He tore at his hair. “ _He’s part Black, for Merlin’s sake_ —”

“Everybody, _calm down_!” Seamus jumped in the middle of the group. “Nobody’s killed anybody, so everyone just _shut up and quit yelling_!”

“Why is there no adult supervision on this train?” Blaise whimpered. “ _Where are all the professors?!_ ”

Dean glanced around at his fellow seventh-years and shuddered. “Mate, I think we _are_ the adult supervision.”

Silence fell in the crowded space.

Then, with a determined sigh, Seamus stepped towards the door. “You’re right. We _are_ the adults, so we have to act like it.” He pointed his wand at the door. “I’ll unlock this door, and we’ll go in and tell those two— _responsibly_ —to knock it off.”

Dean laid a cautious hand on Seamus’ arm. “Wait,” he said. “Maybe someone else should handle this spell—”

He gave his best friend a condescending look. “It’s a simple _Alohomora_ ,” Seamus chided as he brushed Dean’s hand off his arm. “I’ve got this.”

* * *

 

**7:35 p.m.**

 

“ _—UCK!_ ”

Seamus sat up, blinking the soot from his eyelashes. Around him, his classmates were also getting their bearings from where they were blown back by the force of his _Alohomora_.

In the distance, Professor McGonagall had fallen to her knees, yelling incoherently as she gaped at the Hogwarts Express—or, that is, the parts of it that arrived on time at Hogsmeade station.

* * *

 

**The Hogwarts Express**

**September 1, 2012**

**11:25 a.m.**

 

As Draco took the gold chain off them, Hermione shoved his shoulder.

“You did that on purpose!” she admonished. She stepped back and ran her hands along the front of her robes, then over her bum, making sure all her clothing was in place. “That was _not_ what I thought you meant by taking a ‘quick trip’ before the school term starts!”

“Trust me,” her husband said. “This trip was _really_ important.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Oh gods, I thought Scorpius had walked in on us.” A smile formed on her lips as she gave Draco another playful shove. “I forgot how charming you looked in your school uniform.”

Draco gathered her in his arms, planting a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Still mad?”

“No,” Hermione said, leaning into his embrace. “But, you are _so_ grounded from using this Time Turner until further notice. How far did you take us back?”

Draco winced. “Fifteen years?”

She grunted.

Her husband whipped out his most innocent expression. “What? It’s not like it’s the furthest we’ve ever gone back,” he said. He traced her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “What about that romantic trip we took—when Scorpius was conceived?”

“When we went to Greece?”

“Yeah,” Draco scoffed.  “ _Ancient_ Greece!”

“My gods.” Hermione thumped her forehead against Draco’s chest. “We are _so_ irresponsible,” she said with a wry chuckle.

He kissed the top of her hair before releasing her. “Let’s go, then,” he said as he slid the compartment door open. “It’s time to be the responsible adults on this train.”

“Let’s,” she agreed, stepping out into the corridor. “Before Minerva catches us shirking our duties and fires us both.”

“And lose both Potions and Arithmancy professors at the start of term? Never.” Draco added confidently, “Besides, she absolutely _adores_ us.”

“She adores _me_ ,” she corrected as they exited the carriage. “She only tolerates _you_."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading - hope you liked this story! And, if you did, you may wanna check out "Double, Double Time-Turner Trouble," which is a companion to this fic :)
> 
> Comments/Kudos are appreciated! Cheers!


End file.
